Misconceptions
by onekisstotakewithmex
Summary: The doctors had told her the truth, and like any normal person, she'd accepted it. What she hadn't realized was that the doctor is not always right, which leads her to one of the happiest moments of her life. McLilah/McDee, season 14 spoilers, featuring a punny title.


At first, she'd been more concerned with the fact that she wasn't dead.

Yes, she was battered and bruised and paralyzed, she felt like she'd survived a tsunami, _and_ her life had changed forever. But as she stared at the tiny cuts on her hands, not knowing where they'd come from, she hadn't cared. She was _alive,_ and that was all that mattered. Wasn't it?

It wasn't even her that asked the damn question. It had been her mother, who was searching for any kind of anchor in the churning seas of her eldest daughter's paralysis, even as the waves pounded on the once-peaceful shores of their existence. Why she'd chosen to settle on the topic of whether or not Delilah could still have children, her daughter had no idea. And yet, even as she asked, Delilah could almost see the look on her face (it reminded her then that it wasn't just her life that had been turned upside down and changed forever), the look of _who would want to have children with her now?_ And it broke Delilah's heart more than she'd care to admit.

As they did occasionally, her thoughts slipped to Tim (he thankfully had missed the conversation about children) and she let the grim prognosis of the doctors wash over her. Though for years, the events of the hospital would remain fuzzy, she would always remember the somber look of the doctor, whose name evaded her since he was one of many doctors swirling in and out of her hospital room at all hours of the day, as he shook his head, and said that it was quite unlikely, it would put stress on her already-fragile body, the chances of conception were slim…

Delilah herself hadn't thought about what she wanted for years, hadn't thought about children in ages, but the hollow feeling in the pit of her stomach was like she'd woken up one morning and something small and precious had been stolen from her without her even knowing how precious it truly was. She didn't remember crying as she listened to the doctors. She believed them, nodding in numbness as the tidal wave carried away just one more piece of her future.

 **XNCISX**

She'd let her hope be taken away. She'd listened to the doctors, asked questions, and taken notes like she was going to be quizzed on it before they released her from the hospital.

In the weeks and months following her release from the hospital – these she remembered all too clearly – she and Tim had been so unsure of where they stood, but he had been there for her, all the same, and she wondered if it would break his heart the same way it broke hers, if she'd always be causing him heartache and pain. They had been dating for almost a year, had maybe once or twice discussed the future, the possibility of marriage, a family… but how did she tell him that when the bombing happened, it had obliterated not only her life, but blown holes in their future as well?

And what guaranteed that he would stay?

It had been over breakfast, after their skydiving adventure, and she'd been watching him pour syrup over his pancakes, biting his lip in concentration, before giving her a smile. He'd worked hard on the case, but he was still there, smiling at her, unaware of the burden she carried on her heart. It was then, in a heart-stopping moment that she realized she could do this for the rest of her life. Maybe she'd already known, known for weeks, but having Tim stare at her over breakfast, his sleeves rolled up, and the real world of cases and terrorism far from them, made her realize that she loved him more than she could have thought possible.

He'd noticed her staring, and raised an eyebrow. "Everything okay, hon?"

"Tim." She stopped there, unsure how to continue.

He tilted his head to one side, and the resemblance to a puppy made her heart break a little, because what if this was how it ended? A stealthy confession over breakfast, after he'd offered her a little bit of hope. "Dee, what's wrong?" he asked, and damn him, he was worried about her!

"I don't even know if it matters," she said softly. "To you, to us…"

"What doesn't matter?" He was patiently waiting her out, waiting for an answer she didn't want to give. "Dee, honey, is it… is it serious?"

"I don't know." She looked down at the plate of breakfast food, and felt perhaps it wasn't suited for a dramatic confession like she one she was about to give. She had half a mind to look up and ask Tim what he thought a suitably dramatic meal to confess over was (he was the author, not her), but his eyes were on her, and he was worried, but not pushing her to answer. She swallowed hard. "Tim, I don't know what'll happen to us… I don't even know what'll happen next month or next year, but…"

"But?" he asked.

"If we ever… get married…" She saw the flicker of fear (and was that hope she saw?) in his eyes, but forced herself to continue. "The doctors said… uh… Tim, I don't know if I can have kids."

There. She'd said it.

He blinked. She couldn't read the emotions on his face, but held her breath for a second. Was this it? The last moment before his goodbye? He'd stayed through so much, yet it wouldn't surprise her if _this_ was the last straw. And then he nodded. "Okay."

"What?" she asked, unsure that she'd heard him.

"Dee, I'm… sorry." Surely this was the end? "But that doesn't matter to me."

"It doesn't?" she asked. "Don't you want kids, Tim?"

He shrugged, and then gave her a half-hearted smile. "I want you to be happy. And Dee, I still love you, okay? If you can't… if _we_ can't have kids, then that's okay." He reached across the table, offering a hand to her, and she smiled at him through unshed tears, because of course he had to be sentimental and charming in such a serious moment. "And I love you… Whatever happens, you're my future."

"I love you too," she said, "Now c'mere. I need to kiss you."

He obliged. She'd listened to the doctors. What they'd told her might have chased Tim away, but Tim was staying. She'd listened to the doctors, and it didn't hurt as much with Tim by her side.

 **XNCISX**

She never would have expected it. It had simply become a fact, a bitter pill to swallow, and she still regretted what might never be. In the dark of night sometimes, with Tim breathing softly next to her, she would fiddle with the engagement ring, and wonder if that would ever quite make up for the fact that their future was uncertain.

If she'd been asked why she was feeling off, she would've said it was wedding stress. She was almost single-handedly planning the wedding, and that was that. She had _just_ convinced Tim to step up and participate a little more, but while it annoyed her, she didn't really fault him. There were so many days that, despite the engagement ring, and living together, she still felt as though they were merely children playing grown ups, trying to be a family of two with no instruction manual. Some days, in her mind, she called what they were doing _playing house,_ but when she'd played house as a child there was usually a baby doll or two lying around.

They had talked to Jimmy and Breena, considered adoption – never mind that in the end Jimmy and Breena had ended up with their own biological child anyway – but what had come of the conversation? The idea of looking into it? They both worked dangerous jobs; nothing was guaranteed.

A family was not guaranteed because of a wedding. She'd listened to the doctors. Maybe a little too well, because over the years, while a future with Tim _had_ been a part of her plan, eventually, the idea of children with bright eyes and brilliant minds faded into an oblivion; one that had dulled the pain of the improbable.

And in the middle of May, in the midst of planning a large, beautiful summer wedding, she'd been sitting on their bed, talking to her future husband, her Timothy, about wedding invitations. And then, Delilah Fielding (and soon to be McGee) collapsed to the floor, hitting her head, and scaring the hell out of her fiancé.

She woke up when the paramedics arrived, and could hear Tim freaking out, but could do little more than squeeze his hand as he sat beside her in the ambulance, white-faced. She didn't need to look at his face, or feel the white-knuckled grasp of his hand in hers, to know what they were both thinking: complications from the paralysis.

It had always loomed over them like a malevolent shadow, the worry that someday her condition could get worse. Just one more thing the doctors had said, and one more thing she'd listened to, trying not to imagine an inevitable day when she was no more, and Tim was by himself. The threat never went away, the danger always in the back of her mind even on her happiest days. She didn't know what was wrong with her, but she'd be damned if she died before her wedding day. Not when she was finally getting to marry Tim.

And so, accustomed to the endless tests and sleepless nights in hospitals while her future was decided by those in white coats, she'd sat all night, snatching brief moments of sleep, not knowing where Tim was. The doctors wouldn't let him into her hospital room, and she'd allowed a few tears to escape, wiping at them frantically when the next doctor walked in. Tim had her engagement ring with him, and she knew he had to be struggling. She only hoped the team was with him, or at least Gibbs. It brought back memories of the Conrad Gala, and nightmares, and the worry that if she was dying, she would be alone.

It wasn't until she was alone with Tim in the morning, sitting in their hospital room, that she looked over at him, the signs of a sleepless night written all over his face, and his energy was flagging, but he was there, and as he looked at her, she knew she'd never loved him more. And if this was the end, if she only had weeks to live, she'd gladly get married right there in the hospital room, dragging one of the doctors in to officiate. She was in a state of false calm, even if her hands were shaking, pressed into her midsection. They had spoken a little, but looking at her tear-stained, usually unshakeable fiancé, she knew that he was going to say more.

"You know you're going to be fine, right?" he asked, hurriedly.

Her hands were still clasped together, tangled in the wires, but she knew that this reassurance was as much for him as it was for her. "Yeah, I know. You sure you know?" she asked. It was crazy, that she was in the hospital, and yet worried more for his wellbeing than hers. She knew he likely hadn't slept all night. She'd at least had the benefits of a few stolen moments. Stolen moments like this one.

"Yeah, I'm sure, I know." He leaned forward in his chair, watching her, drinking her in with his eyes like this was the last time he'd ever see her, memorizing the woman he loved, and her heart skipped a beat, watching him.

It was the worst time, but she had to get her say in. If she was sick, or dying, or going to die from further complications, they weren't sweeping it under the rug. He needed her honesty, even if he didn't know it. "Well, if I'm not-,"

"Don't go there," he all but pleaded, his electrifying eyes sending a lightning bolt through her, and she knew she was shaking.

She gave him a look, one she'd perfected over the years, her voice sad without her trying. "Go where, hon? There is here. We're here now, this is happening." Though neither of them knew what _it_ was, exactly. She'd listened to the doctors, though, and knew _it_ couldn't be good. But she wasn't going to give up, and she couldn't lose him now.

"And everything's going to be fine," he insisted, and she saw the fear on his face, knew it was reflected in her eyes.

"I'm just saying if it's not-," she tried again.

"Then whatever it is, we'll deal with it, okay?" Her heart was breaking, watching him, knowing he was trying to stay strong, to keep up a good front for her. Would he cry if the results came back spelling out her death? Or would he be strong for her, and then slowly break in private?

"Can I finish, hon?" she asked, feeling a bit lighter, a smile on her face. This was her normal, awkward, Tim, which meant the world couldn't have gone to hell just yet. He would fight it off with her, armed with little more than the love he carried for her.

"Sorry."

"I'm just saying if it's not, we're still okay." _Aren't we okay?_ "Hey," she offered a hand, remembering the churning sea of her paralysis, and how badly she'd wanted a lifeline. The same lifeline and anchor she offered Tim. He took it. Meeting his eyes, she continued with everything they'd ever left unsaid, rubbing her thumb over his hand. "As long as we have each other, we're okay." It was an _I love you,_ and she hoped he knew.

Tim nodded. "Okay." And if her words had been an _I love you,_ so were his. And it was all she needed. Her heart felt a little stronger.

"Okay then," came another voice, and they both looked up to see the doctor walking in. Her heart dropped to her stomach, and she swallowed, suddenly feeling queasy, like she was going to be sick.

Tim stood up, and for a second, she wished she could do the same. "Okay what?"

"Have you _slept,_ Agent McGee?" the doctor asked, giving him a suspicious look. Delilah fought back the ridiculous urge to laugh. Of course he hadn't slept. He was a rumpled, tear-stained fiancé and she had never been happier to see him.

"No. Yes. Uh, it doesn't matter. How's Delilah?" he asked, and her heart broke. Was he reliving the Conrad Gala in the same way she was? A look at his terror said yes.

"She's fine," the doctor said, and it was like the fist that had been holding Delilah relaxed. She felt herself breathe again.

"Really?" she asked, letting herself hope for a second. She sent a prayer skyward that she was healthy, that it was just wedding stress. There was no other cause, if she wasn't dying.

"Yes, aside from a mild concussion from your fall…" She felt Tim's hand on her shoulder, and if she'd offered him an anchor minutes ago, he offered her that same anchor now. She closed her eyes for a second, nearly sobbing in relief, before the doctor continued. "Brain function is completely normal." She pressed a hand to her forehead, trying to hide the wave of emotion rushing through her.

"Oh, that's great, that's great news!" Tim sounded tired, but relieved, like a proud father, and looking over at him, she was sure. She loved him, he loved her. Anything else was a bonus that neither asked for. He squeezed her shoulder, and she managed a tired laugh at his brief elation.

"Same with the blood tests. The recent stress likely contributed to you passing out." And there it was. The relief. It was just wedding stress. She was okay. But the doctor, instead of leaving, continued. "But only because you're a tad anemic right now, and that's to be expected, so…"

All of the relief she'd felt a moment before evaporated, leaving her with a sinking feeling in her stomach, and she could feel Tim freeze beside her, without even looking at him. "Wait, what, why is that to be expected?" she demanded, feeling herself start to shake. She was confused more than afraid, but the relief had long since fled her system.

"Well, in your current condition…" The doctor said, looking at her with a _how do you not know_ look on her face. Delilah's heart seized in her chest, and for a second she wondered _is it possible_? She knew the look of confusion was blatantly obvious on her face, and she turned to eye Tim, who looked just as confused as she did. Was this the death blow, the news that she was a goner?

"Oh. Wow… you don't know." She was smiling. If she was smiling, Delilah couldn't be dying, right? The spark of hope flared up again, even turning into a tiny blaze.

"Know what?" she asked, still confused, but offering what she hoped was a polite smile, and she knew Tim had to hear the tinge of hope in her voice, and hoped she was okay.

The doctor grinned. "You're expecting." Delilah stared at her for a second, thinking she must have heard wrong. Because it wasn't possible, none of it was. Her heart was pounding and she was quite sure that time had stopped.

"Expecting what?" she heard Tim ask, and she felt as though it was coming from very far away, and she felt giddy for a second. _But the doctors said-_ no. She was trying to process it and it wasn't working.

"A baby," the doctor said, patiently, and Delilah's heart felt as though it was caught in a fist and being squeezed. She managed a single breath, her mouth dropping open as the doctor turned back to her. Every word in her vocabulary had fled her brain, and hope was flaring into a fire that threatened to consume her, a bubble of elation encompassing her. "You're pregnant. About ten weeks." She was staring, she knew she should stop staring, her brain an incoherent mess.

She was- she couldn't be- the _doctors had said-_

They'd said _unlikely._ Not _impossible._

Delilah Fielding (soon to be McGee) was going to have a baby. Her hands unconsciously pressed to her midsection, where for ten weeks, a baby had been growing without her knowledge. Still staring at the doctor, she tried to form words, and she wanted to look at Tim, to cry of happiness with him, but she was frozen in place.

At least until she heard something crash to the floor behind her. "Oh!" the doctor said, shocked, as Delilah managed to look and see her poor fiancé, in a dead faint on the floor. And that's when it sunk in.

She and Tim were having a baby, and her most impossible dream was a reality. She had always hoped to one day tell him that she was pregnant, the vision clearest in her mind on those darkest of nights, but this wasn't fake. The doctors had told her what they thought, and like any normal person, she had listened.

But there was a baby inside her, a combination of her, and Tim, and she loved him so much that if he wasn't lying beyond her reach she would kiss him senseless. But somewhere deep down, the part of her she'd resolutely squished and ignored, was a chunk of her brain that said to her _you always knew this day was coming, Dee. And he's done what you expected him to do._

She giggled to herself. "That's exactly how I imagined it."

 **XNCISX**

He came to not long after that, crammed into the hospital bed beside her, and she was holding an ice pack to his head in one hand, and stroking his hair with the other. The butterflies in her stomach felt like they had picked the moment his eyes fluttered open to collectively migrate, and her hand was shaking as she held the ice pace to his skull. "Dee," he said, dazed.

"Hi," she said, unable to help the smile that spread across her face.

And then he grinned, remembering. "Hello," he said softly, looking up at her like she was a goddess of some kind. He sat straight up, clutching his head. "Dee! Delilah, you're…"

"We're having a baby, Tim. And you fainted. Which I kind of expected you to do." She giggled, and watched the awe on his face, surely matching hers. "Here, turn your head for me."

He did, baring the battered part of his skull, the one that had made contact with the bottom of the door. She leaned down and pressed a very gentle kiss to the bruise, feeling him flinch beneath her touch. "Better?"

He turned, grinning. "Yes. We're actually…? But I thought-,"

"So did I. But it's true."

"I love you, Delilah." He took the ice pack from her unsteady hands before pulling her into a heartfelt kiss, more truthful and permanent than any vows. She kissed him back, marvelling that she was marrying him and they were going to have a child together.

"I love you, Tim," she managed breathlessly, once he'd pulled away, and they lay on the bed together, forehead to forehead, breathing each other in, and his eyes were staring into hers, as he placed his hands on top of hers, where they rested on her stomach, their future cradled beneath their intertwined hands.

After all the worry, and longing, and tears, and hopes and dreams, she and Tim were going to be parents. The doctors hadn't been right…

… And just like that, a different future had been returned to her.


End file.
